


The Wonder Of You

by stpitbull



Series: Fools Rush In [3]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-29
Updated: 2012-03-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 17:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stpitbull/pseuds/stpitbull





	1. Chapter 1

The King wished he could somehow tell his younger self that one morning, while it was chilly and gray outside, he'd wake up next to a warm mass of roadhewn muscles and feel more fulfilled than anytime he'd woken up next to soft curves.  _His name'll be John Viviendo_ , he'd tell his younger self,  _and he'll be changing your life before you even get to meet him_ .   
  
He wasn't foolish -- he knew it was going to be an adjustment. It might take some time for some of the boys to get used to. There was a chance the girls would throw a few fits. Pacer would  _definitely_  throw a fit. But consequences didn't exist just yet, not when Viv was still asleep next to him, in his arms. He could tell himself he made up his mind last night, and that was convenient. But deep down he'd known since Viv made his tipsy confession days ago. It was like someone had finally let the air into the room. ( _He'll be tough and honest, and always know what to say._ )   
  
Viv's breathing changed from a steady intake to the sharp, deep breath of the newly conscious, and he lifted a hand to rest on the arm that encircled his torso. The King tightened his hold a bit, and Viv rolled his head on the pillow, looking at him with those big, coffee-brown eyes. "You're still here," he said quietly, like it was genuinely confusing.   
  
The King tugged him over, the warmth of their bodies flush together going deep into his bones. ( _His skin will be covered in scars, and you'll want to kiss every inch of it._ ) He let himself get lost in the sensation of skin on skin, running his hands down the length of Viv's back before leaning in to kiss him.   
  
"Your breath is terrible," Viv chuckled softly against his lips.   
  
"You complainin'?" the King murmured, forehead resting against Viv's.   
  
"Nope." Viv tilted his head as the King leaned in to kiss him again, brushing their mouths together softly. ( _The scrape of stubble against your cheek will feel like heaven._ ) He shifted and nudged Viv onto his back, pressing on top of him, loving the warm and solid weight under his body, the way Viv's hand buried itself in his hair and pulled him closer. He ducked his head down to nose at Viv's square jaw and trail half-formed kisses from his ear to his collarbone, relishing every hitch in Viv's breath, the way his fingers curled into a fist against the King's shoulder. The way Viv groaned and arched slightly, back into the pillows, baring his throat for the King's lips and tongue and teeth. The way he hissed quietly when the King found a bruise he had sucked into his skin last night and nipped at it, Viv's hands coming around his shoulders and sliding down his back. ( _Big, calloused hands on your body will make your heart stop._ ) He could do this for hours, if Viv let him. Just savoring each other's bodies. Just each other.   
  
It didn't make sense. But according to the gospel of every song the King knew, love never did.

Things were getting heated when Viv tensed, pulled back. "We're both fucking messes from last night," he said, and the King could hear it in his voice, the way he was trying to sound casual and failing. "I know  _I_  need to get cleaned up." He pulled out of the King's arms, stepped out of the bed of quiet feet and starting looking for his clothes.   
  
The King propped himself up on one elbow. "So that's it then," he said. "Just... 'Thanks for last night,' and you're gone?"   
  
Viv sagged, taking a breath and tugging on his trousers. "Look, I know you're a gentleman but I'm not gonna hold you to what you said last night, so don't stress. You're still free."   
  
The King got out of the warm bed, finding his own trousers and stepping into them, saying, "Thought I made it pretty clear last night that that's not what I want."   
  
Viv gave a hollow little laugh that gave the King a painful twist in his chest, now that he could hear the bitterness in it, and he remembered that in every story he could remember listening to, Viv had been alone.    
  
"I mean it," he said firmly. "I meant it last night and I mean it now."   
  
Viv stood with his t-shirt in his hands, crossed his arms and looked at the King hard. "Okay, tell me this: aside from me, how many men you been with?"   
  
"None."   
  
"Exactly."   
  
"So you're upset that I'm  _not_  freaking out about this?" The King said, walking towards him. "You're upset that I'm crazy about you, just  _you_ , and the fact that you're a guy doesn't matter?"   
  
"It  _does_  matter!" Viv said, raising his voice and immediately scrubbing his face with a hand. He tugged on his shirt, his map of scars shifting over lean muscles, and took a deep breath. "It matters," he said quietly. "You don't get that, but it does."   
  
"Not to me," the King said, closing the distance between them. "You make me feel better than anyone else I ever met in my life."   
  
Viv shifted, hugging himself and looking at the ground. "Jesus, why are you so  _honest_ ," he muttered under his breath, "people aren't  _like_  that."   
  
"You are. You're honest, and brave, and tough." He was standing inches away from Viv now, gently tugged on his arms so they loosened from around his chest. "I spend my time worryin' about you when you go out into the Wastes. Look forward to every time I'm gonna see you." He hooked a finger under Viv's chin, made him look up and meet his eyes. "And last night made a lot of things clear for me. I don't care what that means. I don't care what other people say. I know how I feel about you. So you tell me why I'm not allowed to."   
  
Viv dropped his eyes again. He looked tired, defeated. But not in the way the King was hoping for. He looked like he'd been defeated for a long time.   
  
"Viv. Tell me. Tell me why you're so determined for me to change my mind."   
  
"It's not  _that_ , it's just--" Viv sighed, looking wrung out. The King instinctively put ran his hands up Viv's arms, and the courier leaned into him, resting his forehead against the King's shoulder and taking a deep breath. "I need you to be sure. I mean  _really_  sure."   
  
The King cautiously wrapped his arms around Viv's shoulders, inadvertently nosing at his hair. "And why's that?" Viv was silent, and the King pleaded softly, "Just tell me. Honestly."   
  
"Because to have you and  _lose_  you..." Viv forced out, and then he pulled back, out of the King's arms, looking deliberately at the floor again. "I don't know if I could handle that."

He took a step forward, but Viv clasped his hands in front of his chest. When he looked up, his eyes were earnest, so much so that it made the King's stomach twist. "You said you had that thing at Gonorrhea tonight--"   
  
"Gomorrah."   
  
"Sorry, force of habit. Just... go there tonight. Without me."   
  
"Viv, I'm not gonna--"   
  
"Just  _go_ . That's all I'm asking. Look at all the half-naked girls who'll do anything for you, at all the gambling girls in tight dresses who realize you're the biggest fucking catch the Mojave has to offer. I don't need to know about anything else you do, just do it. And really think about if you're ready to give all that up to be with some scarred-up road punk with a dick."   
  
The King just blinked. "You're serious right now."   
  
"Please."   
  
"Viv, I don't need to do this to know what I want."   
  
" _Please_ , okay?" Viv raked both hands through his hair -- which, even while his heart was aching the King noted, looked chaotic and  _adorable_  post-coital -- and exhaled sharply. "Look, I-- I just need to go. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm weird and crazy, but just... don't let me be your bad decision."   
  
He walked out the door without looking up.   
  
The King sat heavily on the bed.  _He'll make you feel crazy_ , he'd tell his younger self,  _and you'll hope that never stops_ .


	2. Chapter 2

Viv groaned loudly. "I am  _so stupid_ ."   
  
Arcade shifted back so Viv could properly fling himself dramatically onto the desk. The doctor leaned back in his chair and began cleaning his glasses. "I know my sudden role as 'best friend' calls for me to offer soothing placations but yeah, I've gotta side with you on this one, that was  _really_  stupid."   
  
" _Right_ ?" Viv said, looking up and extending his hands in an obvious gesture. "I woke up with the King! The  _King_ ! And instead of tying him to the bed and spending the next week ravishing him until he was so spent that nothing but a little flag that said 'Bang!' came out, I  _told him to get laid by Gomorrah sluts_ . Arcade, escort me to the quarry junction, I need to be torn apart by Deathclaws."   
  
"While normally that would sound like a fun afternoon," Arcade said, putting his glasses back on, "I doubt the situation calls for it."   
  
Viv turned his head on the desk, resting his cheek on cold metal and giving Arcade his very best helpless look. It usually just made Arcade roll his eyes, but these were drastic times. "What do I do here, man?" he asked softly.   
  
Arcade looked at him for a moment, then sighed. "Can I ask you something?"   
  
"Always."   
  
"You've been heartsick over this man for ages. I'm pretty sure you quietly swooned the first time you met him."   
  
"Did not."   
  
"I was there, and there's a part of your brain that short circuits when it encounters men in suits and forgets vital stuff like proper sentence structure, I would not be shocked if memory took a hit."   
  
"Dude, your insults are just... the  _wordiest_ ."   
  
"My  _point_  is," Arcade snipped, "why did you try to push him away?"   
  
Viv sat up, raked a hand through his hair. After a moment, he said, "Remember how I told you about a couple years back, when I was hiding out in Old Austin? I wound up consistently sleeping with a straight guy there."   
  
"Given your natural proclivities for sluttiness, I think pretending to be surprised would almost be insulting."   
  
"Whatever, shut up. But it wasn't... I mean. He was horny and I was convenient, was all that pretty much was, but then he decided to freak out on me because of reasons and the whole thing went ass-up real fast. That's what happens when you try to make something happen with straight guys: they flip out and decide that they have to punch you to make a point. And that guy? That guy was just some grunt I vaguely enjoyed drinking with whose best feature as his cock. He didn't mean anything to me, and it still sucked."   
  
Something in Arcade's expression softened, the way it did that Viv both secretly cherished and was utterly terrified of, back in the part of him that was still mistrustful of anything that involved another human being caring about him. And he had learned to take this expression as a warning. "And what does the King mean to you?" he asked. The one question that needed to be asked and that made Viv want to run. "And be honest. I can tell when you're dodging and about to go into social-cowardice elusive jackass mode. We can smell our own."   
  
Viv took a deep breath, studying the seam of the the tent canvas before him. He was quiet for a long while. He finally summoned a small voice, and settled on, "A lot."   
  
"Do you trust him? When you get down to it, do you think you could trust him with the same secrets you trusted me with?"   
  
His stomach felt like it was suddenly drenched in cold, but he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."   
  
"Okay. So it would follow, then, that you believe he's being honest when he says he wants to be with you, his previous allegiance to nuclear clown hookers aside."   
  
Viv studied his fingernails.   
  
Arcade nodded. "Okay. So I'll ask you again: why are you pushing him away?"   
  
After another long stretch of silence, Viv said, "Because that freaks me right the hell out."


	3. Chapter 3

The King settled back into the chair, trying to clear his head as Sergio carefully scraped his straight-razor against the grain of his face. He tried to focus on the clean smell of homemade shaving cream, on the feeling of cool air against his freshly-shaved skin. And it wasn't working. The process that usually relaxed him better than anything only meant time for him to think, and that meant thinking about Viv, and this morning, and last night, and the past several months since that gorgeous bastard came into his life and ruined everything in the sweetest way, and just where in the hell he had gone wrong.   
  
Sergio inspected his face for any spots he may have missed, of which there never were. "Perfect," he said, and he readied the cold washcloth. "So. The usual?" The King nodded, relaxing as Sergio set the cold washcloth on his face and set about cleaning Figaro and setting up the tools for his next task.   
  
"So," Sergio said, the washcloth gone and the shave complete, nimble hands moving on to styling. "Haven't seen Viv all day. I hope that doesn't mean your... _conversation_  went poorly."   
  
The King closed his eyes, trying to focus on the pleasant feeling of Sergio's lithe fingers working against his scalp and not the twist in his chest. He took a deep, slow breath. He wasn't normally the sort who needed a confidant, but this was new ground, and he felt like if he carried this around another moment he was just going to cave in on himself. He trusted Sergio with his hair -- he could trust him with his private life. "Thought I'd nailed it," he admitted softly. "But now... I don't know. I don't have a clue."   
  
Sergio made a gentle, sympathetic noise. "Didn't reach a peaceful conclusion?"   
  
"Oh, we reached a conclusion," the King said. "A hell of a conclusion. It was the follow-through that I got all wrong."   
  
Sergio worked pomade through his hair for a quiet moment before saying bluntly, "Okay, can we drop the euphamisms and just talk about it?"   
  
"That would be a massive relief, thank you," the King breathed out, shoulders falling.   
  
"I thought so. Spill."   
  
And so the King told him, back here in the private sanctuary of perhaps the School's most sacred room. He confessed to everything. To the way his heart had swelled at the first sight of Viv walking through the door last night, how it felt like he was returning home instead of visiting. To the way kissing Viv had made him realize that he'd been doing it wrong all this time. To his epiphany that he had stumbled upon something precious and rare and that he was sick at the idea of letting it go. And to the sorrow that he'd been carrying around all day. To the queasy feeling he had about going to Gomorrah tonight.   
  
Sergio listened silently, working his magic on the King's hair. When the King drew his story to a close with a frustrated gesture and a helpless fall of his shoulders, Sergio spoke softly. "I've always considered you an honest man," he said evenly, words carefully chosen. "So please consider this before you answer. Do you really think you could do this? Do you really think you could dedicate yourself not just to a relationship with Viv, but to a relationship with a man and all the consequences that's going to bring? One that you're going to be open about, no matter what?"   
  
"I told you, I thought about it all morning--"   
  
"You thought about it while you were warm and nestled against his naked body. Think about it now while you're wearing a suit, preparing to go to get your VIP on at a public function and unable to be distracted by his pretty eyes."

And so the King thought. And Sergio was right -- it was easier to come up with notions of negative consequences when not in bed next to the man who made his heart pound. But in every scenario he could concoct, he came to the conclusion that he would be with Viv, so it would be worth it.   
  
He had always known he was a romantic. Knew it was part of his charm. But there was a deeper vein to it that he kept tucked away in the most private corner of his heart, and Viv made it sing.    
  
"And when you find someone who makes you feel like that," the King concluded aloud when he realized he had been speaking, "only a fool would risk losin' it over givin' a fuck to what anyone else thought."   
  
Sergio slowly dragged his comb centering the back of the pompadour, and said quietly, "I had a feeling you'd say that."   
  
The King quirked an eyebrow at him in the mirror. "That, specifically?"   
  
"Well, something like that. Something that'd make me want to cry manly tears, you get the gist."   
  
The King chuckled softly. "It's a gift. I'm not proud of it."   
  
Sergio cleared his throat and turned the King's chair to properly begin the delicate task of carefully mussing up the front to look like it just roguishly fell that way. "Well," he said, "there is one other person who's fuck-giving you have to consider. Wait, let me rephrase that. Whatever, you know what I mean. Have you told Viv any of this?"   
  
The King shrugged slightly. "The short version. All it did was scare him off."   
  
"No," Sergio said with a kind of sad wisdom that made the King want to ask him a million questions he'd never considered before, "it filled him with hope. You don't have to be intimate with him to know that that's something he's not used to. Rarely happens for guys like us-- him. Guys like him."   
  
Sergio stepped back, satisfied with his work. The King stood and examined his hair in the mirror, nodding and saying, "Flawless work as usual, Serge."   
  
Sergio crossed his arms and gave a shrug with a proud half-smile. "It's what I do."   
  
The King turned and looked at him. "So... what do I do?" he said, still feeling very helpless in the whole mess.   
  
Sergio looked at him with unhidden fondness, and something bittersweet that the King couldn't place. He stepped forward and brushed the shoulder of the King's jacket for imaginary dust, and said, "Go to Gomorrah. To let him know that you'll put up with the weird shit you just know he's gonna pull in a relationship. Then when you're done, and you're completely certain that you can answer him honestly, go find him and tell him everything you just told me. Well, leave out that 'forever' part, Viv's the type to be freaked out by the concept of 'forever' if not the follow-through."   
  
The King usually maintained a spectacular poker face, but he knew Sergio could read everything that was happening, the swell of barely restrained panic and ache inside of him. "And if it's not enough for him?" he asked softly. "If he still says no to me?"   
  
Sergio smiled, gripping his shoulder lightly. "He won't," he said with a gentle resolution. "No man could. Let alone one who's as crazy for you as he is."

 


	5. Chapter 5

And so, the King went to Gomorrah. Made his appearance at the VIP party in Brimstone, as his status called for. Gamely made his way through the elbow-rubbing, the weird power exchanges that took place as conversations among all the other New Vegas bigwigs. Met every jab of, "Hey, goin' stag tonight?" with easy pacifity. And god, Viv hadn't been kidding about the girls. Had it always been like this and he had never simply noticed it? Because there were women at every turn, with eyes on him like they were wondering if he was on the menu. And not a one of them a temptation at this point.   
  
The King's eyes wandered the room, looking at the women dancing in cages hanging from the ceiling. All it did was make him remember a story Viv had once told, about delivering he'd made years back to a house tucked away in a mountainous area. He'd gotten a bad feeling about the package when he drew near the house when he told a merchant where he was going and they openly winced, so he violated the contract and opened it. It was full of teddy bears. Full as in  _full_ , packed air-tight and it took him one very frustrating hour to shove them back in there and get the package properly sealed again. He took it to the house, and asked the old woman who accepted the package if he could trouble her for a glass of water, just as an excuse to get inside her house. And what he found was cages, dozens and dozens of cages packed with teddy bears, with name plates hand carved from wood on each one.  _Oh!_  the woman had said when she located him to give him his drink.  _You found the children!_   
  
"What are you snickering about?" someone asked the King from his right.   
  
He shook his head. "Nothin' that'd make sense."   
  
He settled at a table with his drink, absently watching the girls writhe on the stage. Girls in various states of undress, all voluptuous curves and soft, long hair, undulating while bathed in red light, more than a few of them locking eyes with him at some point, each running her small hands over the dips and swells of her body. His body reacted -- he was still a man, after all -- but with his quickening pace came the queasy feeling of a man being unfaithful. And when he tried to compare the sight of the girls onstage to the memory of Viv on his hands and knees before him, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and looking over his shoulder to lock eyes with the King... Well. The difference was clear. And he may have needed a moment alone.   
  
No. No, a moment alone was the last thing he wanted, really. He wanted Viv. Wanted to tell him that he trusted his heart when it demanded him, wanted to show him just how little he had to worry about the King's desire being a one-night thing, wanted to promise him that no matter what the consequences, he was ready for them, would meet them head-on and without fear.   
  
He said his goodbyes to the right people (as well as neglected them, in appropriate cases) and left, making his way past the gate, heart, body, and mind all in agreement.

He made a quick check at the Wrangler, but no one had seen Viv all night. He swung by Mick and Ralph's, knowing Viv was friends with them, but neither of them had any clue where he was. So the King went to the Old Mormon Fort, remembering that Viv was particularly close with one of the Followers.   
  
Julie directed him to the tent where Dr. Gannon could usually be found when he wasn't following Viv all across the wasteland. The King found the doctor seated at a research desk. "Arcade?" he asked from the tent's entrance.   
  
The doctor looked over his shoulder and his eyebrows shot up. "In fairness, I should have prepared for this," he said, and stood up.   
  
The King stepped into the tent. "I'm lookin' for Viv."   
  
It was not lost on him how nervous Arcade looked, eyes darting to every corner of the tent in between bursts of looking at the King for the absolute minimum of time required. "Viv?" he said, self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck.   
  
"Yes," the King said flatly. "Viv. John Viviendo? About yea tall, dark skin, rusty hair, said to be your best friend?"   
  
"Oh. Oh! Viv. That Viv. Yeah, he's not here."   
  
The King took a step forward. The doc had a few good inches on him but had all the intimidation of a wet fish. "So where is he?" he asked with calm authority.   
  
Arcade tensed uncomfortably. "Please don't take it out on me. My nose never recovered properly after that whole  _thing_  with Rex--"   
  
"Just tell me," the King said firmly.   
  
Arcade's eyes roved the tent before he took a deep breath and looked at him. "Viv left Freeside this morning," he said softly. "Wouldn't tell me where he was going, but... he's gone."


	6. Chapter 6

It was a mistake, Viv knew now. The whole thing was a mistake. It started with becoming friends with Arcade, it got worse when he started hanging around the same place all the time, and it was ending with whatever that mess was this morning. Giving a shit about another human being only meant it was painful both ways when he would inevitably hurt them. And this mess with the King was worse. It felt worse than the stomach flu and he was done with it. That entire place could go fuck itself, he was going back to wandering.   
  
He had walked all day, heading north, just needing some new ground to eat up.  _Willing_  each step to further clear his head. He was good at running away. He was a _natural_ . The only reason everything felt so wrong this time was that the King had messed up his game. Thrown off his rhythm. Whatever.   
  
This was his new life. Again. He was a series of restarts and his next restart was to be in the building coming up on his left, the lone solid building in a wrecked-up old strip mall that didn't look barren. It was probably a treasure trove.   
  
Or not, Viv found as he navigated its dusty interior. Looked like most of the stuff had been picked clean. But it ran deep, with lots of tall shelves overturned. There was jukebox, but it was one of those truly ancient ones that wasn't just pre-war, it was pre-holo. There were really intense collectors for that sort of thing but that was a crew job, he wasn't about to haul that sonofabitch all by his lonesome. Not without a buyer, anyway.   
  
Not much else. Empty bottles. A thoroughly squished package of Fancy Lads, sticky white sludge congealed where it seeped through a tear in the cardboard. Bits of ancient insects crumbling under his boots. There was one area behind a scarred-up old sales counter where the dust looked only slightly less engrained and the linoleum floor looked a shade more worn-in, a few traces of some other scavenger using this shop as a base. Lighter spots of dust where regular fingertips scraped surfaces clean when reaching for things. Some old dishes and rusted silverware. A bucket -- the first thing you learn while scavenging is to never investigate the bucket. That and wear comfortable shoes.   
  
There were a couple of boxes with useless crap. Old papers. Empty pre-war food packages. A handful of books from post-war start-up presses that, upon inspection, were nothing but poorly-written pornography. And one box full of... things. Big, slim things, cardboard sleeves. Viv pulled one out and examined the insides. He recognized it -- a vinyl record, from before holos took over. They had become collector's items then, and still kind of were among eccentrics or pre-war fetishists. Viv had been on scavenger teams hired to mine out areas where there were rumored to be dozens of such things, and bring them to modern collectors. Same type of people who'd pay absurd bank for that jukebox.

Viv turned the record over in his hands, looking at the faded sleeve, and his heart stopped for a moment. He knew that silhouette. Knew it from the School. And right there, in words, there it was:  _The King's Greatest Hits_ .   
  
There was a proper name, too, for the singer, and Viv flipped through the rest of the records in the box -- all of them, all of them had that name. Pictures of a guy who wore his hair just like the Kings. Was wearing outfits like they wore. Viv searched the room wildly until he found the old-ass jukebox.   
  
After an hour of attempts (which included a good collective ten minutes of just kicking) Viv got the ancient machine working, and put one of the records on. He sat next to the jukebox, and listened. Listened as euphoric strings swelled and a voice that was at once alien and familiar began to sing.   
  
" _When no one else can understand me... when everything I do is wrong..._ "   
  
This was him, had to be. The guy that the church the the School of Impersonation used to be as dedicated to.   
  
" _You give me hope and consolation... you give me strength to carry on..._ "   
  
Viv's eyes were bleeding. No, wait, this was a different warm fluid trickling down his face. Tears. Hot, salty tears were leaking out of Viv's eyeballs and sliding down his face. Viv was crying. Viv was hugging his knees to his chest and crying like a little pansy bitch and seriously,  _fuck_  the King. Fuck his King and this King and every single King, just fuck all of them.   
  
"You fucking bastard," Viv choked out into his knees. He didn't even know who he was addressing. He just knew he had never felt this way and it  _sucked_ . Why did people  _want_  this? It was awful. Why did the King want this?    
  
Oh god, the King. He had just  _left_  him there, didn't even say goodbye. It struck Viv like a sledgehammer to the heart that the King was probably feeling this same way, right now. The thought just about murdered him.   
  
" _I guess I'll never know the reason why you love me like you do... that's the wonder, the wonder of you..._ "


End file.
